The Foolhardy Clown

The foolhardy clown, said he,
With a hint of remorse,
'I want you to, Oh love of my life!
To discard me like yesterday's refuse,
Crumpled and torn,
Wrecked and worn-out,
Like us and my promises,
Cross out my names on pages now,
Yellow with age and neglect,
Fraying edges, like journals old,
Of forgotten times,
Don't you spell out my name,
Like the verses once you penned,
Lest it bring my tune to mind,
And overwhelm your heart,
If you stumble across a crumpled sheet,
Of my personal verse,
Don't hesitate, for a second, love!
To incinerate the lines,
So it lets you sleep at night,
And live a blissful life!'
And then he sighed.